Olórë Nolofinwëo
by Henry Plantagenet
Summary: Fingolfin's dream
1. Chapter 1

**Olórë Nolofinwëo**

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Fingolfin stood on the shore of the dark sea, watching Fëanor's fleet sail into the distance.

"And now I am alone," he thought. "One brother has gone ahead of me, and one is left behind..."

He looked thoughtfully out over the breakers for a while, and then slowly walked away from them. Stretching himself out on the sand, his head propped up on a smooth rock, he sighed as he looked out over the sea again.

His mind began to wander – to slide into that restful, wakeful stillness that is the elven equivalent of slumber. And as he saw in his mind's eye the faces of his brothers, he began to think of what might have been. What if Fëanor had not had the gift of fiery persuasion... and what if Finarfin had had that gift instead?

As he looked up at the stars, Fingolfin began to hear in his imagination the voice of his younger brother, speaking as he had never spoken before...

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"Are you mad," he asked. "Have you taken leave of your senses? There can be no justification for slaying our own kin."

Finarfin raised his voice in an impassioned plea.

"The Teleri are our brothers! They are our own kin!

"They stand in our way not out of hatred, but out of love. They will not give us their ships, and they do not allow us to leave, because they know that it is wrong for us to do so! It is wrong for us to leave Valinor! And it is wrong to disobey the Valar! This is what they say to us.

"And are they not right? Have we sunk so far into madness that we need them to remind us of our duty to the Valar? Is this not something we ought to have remembered on our own?

"Still your anger, my kinsmen – still your minds, and reflect on the words of the Teleri. Theirs is the voice of reason. You know that to be true!"

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As they listened to the words of Finarfin, the Noldor began to see the wisdom in his reasoning. And the words of Fëanor began to seem crazed and unreasonable. One by one, the Noldor sheathed their bright swords.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Olórë Nolofinwëo**

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**Chapter 2**

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As they listened to the words of Finarfin, the Noldor began to see reason once again. They would not slay their seafaring kinsmen, the Teleri, and seize their ships. They would listen to their wise counsel instead, and refuse to follow Fëanor on the voyage of madness that he had urged them to take.

And looking at their faces, Fëanor understood at once that he had lost the allegiance of his people. Now, they would not follow his lead, and seize the ships of the Teleri. And they would not follow him across the sea. His influence over them was lost.

A wave of seething hot rage overcame him. He had always considered his hated half-brothers to be the source of all his pain. And they had proven it yet again.

Fingolfin had enraged him into drawing his sword, and had caused the Valar to send him into exile. And now... now that he had finally regained his influence over the Noldor, now that he had inspired them to follow him out of the Blessed Realm, or rather the Accursed Realm, Finarfin, with his impassioned words, had made the Noldor turn against him once again.

He was tempted to speak to them, to try to sway them, and recover their loyalty. But as he looked around at their faces, gazing in rapt admiration at his hated half-brother, he knew that he had lost them forever. He could never persuade them to follow him again.

Drawing his dark cloak around him, Fëanor disappeared into the darkness.

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That night there was feasting and merrymaking in Alqualondë, to celebrate the reunion of the Noldor and the Teleri.

The Noldor swore that they would never again lose their reason to the extent that they would consider slaying their kin. And the Teleri swore again and again that the momentary madness of the Noldor was forgiven and would forever be forgotten. Caught up in their celebrations, not one of them noticed that Fëanor was gone.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Olórë Nolofinwëo**

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**Chapter 3**

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His dark cloak swathed about him, Fëanor walked the sands of Alqualondë, shivering slightly in the cold wind. The ocean hissed and roared like a living creature, its icy breakers stinging his feet with a cold so intense that it seemed to cut him, slash at him. He impatiently brushed back the raven locks that the wind had blown over his face and glared out at the dark ocean, sensing a presence there watching him.

All of a sudden, the roiling waters were stilled, and the roar of the wind was hushed to a whisper. And in the vast stillness, a voice spoke to him from the depths of the mighty ocean. The calm, soothing voice of Ulmo, Lord of the Waters.

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"**Who is this cloaked stranger, walking the shores of Ulmo's vast ocean?**

**Is he the King of the Noldor?"**

"No," answered Fëanor, "he is an exile, banished for twelve years from Tirion."

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**Is he the father of seven mighty sons?**

No, he is the orphaned son of Míriel Serindë.

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**Is he the brother of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë?**

No, he is the half-brother of Fingolfin and Finarfin.

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**Is he a craftsman of great renown, the creator of the Silmarils, highly respected amongst the Noldor?**

No, he is a humiliated outcast, ashamed to show his face amongst the Noldor.

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There was silence for a moment. And then Fëanor heard the voice again.

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**What may I do to comfort you, my child?**

**What may I do to still those bitter tears?**

Could you turn my years of exile into years of proud rule?

Could you breathe life back into my mother or my father?

Could you erase from memory the existence of Indis and her handsome sons?

When you could have chosen to do any of those things for me, you did not.

And so, I have turned my back on the Valar forever.

And I swear that I will never come to any of you for comfort or healing again.

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**But must you turn your back on your people, too?**

**The Noldor who love you?**

They love me no more.

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**You cannot live alone as a recluse for the rest of your life...**

But I cannot face them...

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**And yet you must not be alone...**

**I will cast an enchantment on the dark cloak that you wear.**

**As long as you wear it your identity will be veiled –**

**- you may walk amongst the Noldor, the Vanyar or the Teleri **

**and not be known to anyone. **

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A glistening wave silvered by moonlight and starlight rose up out of the sea and hung over Feanor's bowed head for a moment in silent benediction. And as it crashed down over him, the water transformed into silver light that bathed his cloak for a moment and then faded out.

"**Go, my son," **said the voice of Ulmo, **"go back to your people now."**

"I cannot face the Noldor or the Teleri," said Fëanor. "With or without an enchanted cloak. They will enrage me, they will make me mad..."

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**Go then to the Vanyar who live at the feet of Manwë on Mount Taniquetil,**

**and live with them unrecognised and in peace**

**until your anger is cooled. **

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And so it came to pass that a silent hooded stranger came to live in the midst of the Vanyar. None knew whence he came, and no one ever heard him speak.

He lived quietly on the outskirts of the realm, busying himself with smithcraft.

And soon, he came to be known as the Smith with the Golden Voice. For although he never spoke, he would join the Vanyar every day, when they gathered at dawn on the mountain to sing in praise of Manwë of the Valar.

And when he sang, he would move the Vanyar to tears with the eloquence of his words, the enchantment of his sweet music and the deep beauty of his voice.

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**"Lá men A Manwë, lá men, mal á anta esselyan alcar..."**

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For although he lived in disguise, Fëanor's fiery creativity could not remain hidden. Amidst the Vanyar, it found expression in song.

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_Author's note:_

I would like to express my gratitude to **Lambengolmo **for translating 'Non Nobis' into Quenya for me.  
He also gave me the title for this story.

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**Non nobis Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam **  
Not to us O Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory

**Lá men A Eru, lá men, mal á anta esselyan alcar.**  
"Not to-us o lord, not to-us, but do give to-your-name glory."

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	4. Chapter 4

**Olórë Nolofinwëo**

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**Chapter 4**

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Soon, word began to spread amidst the Vanyar of the hooded stranger with his wondrous gift for music. And Ingwë, the King of the Vanyar, expressed a wish to meet him.

Ingwë - who was as a brother to Finwë, and close kin to Indis of the Vanyar - had asked to meet him. Would he recognise Curufinwë of the Noldor? Now was the time to test whether the enchanted cloak could truly conceal the hooded stranger's identity.

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Fëanor bowed low before the King of the Vanyar.

"You wished to meet me, my lord."

Ingwë stood up to greet the hooded stranger, and took the stranger's hands in his own.

"Yes indeed. I wished to meet the one whose voice I heard today at dawn, singing so eloquently in praise of Manwë Súlimo. Your music has brought a special quality to our worship, and for this we are grateful."

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As Ingwë spoke, Fëanor, turning away for a moment, caught sight of a tall woman with fiery red hair, standing by a pillar._ Nerdanel... _

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The hooded stranger turned his attention back to the King of the Vanyar.

Ingwë searched the expressionless face of the man who stood before him. His face looked strangely familiar, and yet not so. Who was this stranger whom he felt he knew?

When he searched his memory for a name to put to that face, something seemed to stop him. A cloud of nebulous, unrelated thoughts would spring up out of nowhere to distract his mind from the matter in hand.

When he had heard the song of the stranger that morning, Ingwë knew that he had heard that voice before. And for some reason, when the stranger stood before him, thoughts of Fëanáro Curufinwë sprung to his mind. And so, he addressed the stranger...

"Will you compose for me an Ode in honour of one who is often on my mind – one whom I remember with admiration and with love?"

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The stranger bowed his acquiescence.

"Of whom do you speak, my lord," he asked.

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Ingwë sighed.

"He is the son of one who was as a brother to me. Many a time have I thought of him – in self-imposed exile, wherever he is – living alone in bitter sorrow, his beloved father and the great work of his hands lost forever. And I have prayed for him.

"I speak of Fëanáro Curufinwë, the great craftsman of the Noldor. He disappeared on the night of the Great Feast of Alqualondë, and has not been heard of since.

"O hooded stranger, will you compose a prayer to Manwë Súlimo asking him to protect the lost son of my dear friend Finwë?"

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The hooded stranger looked at the King of the Vanyar in startled silence for a moment, and then he spoke :

"The elf of whom you speak is unworthy of respect or admiration," he said harshly.

"He could not protect the life of his father, your dear friend Finwë.

He could not live in peace with his half-brothers, the sons of Indis, who are kin to you.

He wished to defy the Valar by leading his people on a foolhardy quest.

And when good sense prevailed and they rejected his counsel, he was too much a coward to continue to live in their midst..."

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The woman with flame-coloured hair stirred in indignation. The hooded stranger's eyes met hers.

"...and I have heard, too, that he has long been unable to command the respect of his wife, who regards him with derision and contempt..."

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King Ingwë seldom spoke in anger, but he did so now.

"O hooded stranger, it is easy to criticise one whom you do not know, for making choices you do not understand. But stranger, whoever you are, you must needs learn the art of understanding. For unless you learn this, despite your brilliant creativity, you will be nothing."

Fëanor stood tall and glared at the King of the Vanyar. "I cannot learn to respect and love one who is not worthy of it," he began, but was silenced by a stern look of disapproval from the King.

"You will either learn the art of understanding, or you will leave the Vanyar and go where you will."

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Fëanor bowed low.

"As you wish, my lord."

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And from that day forward, the hooded stranger was seen no more amidst the Vanyar.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Olórë Nolofinwëo**

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**Chapter 5**

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King Olwë looked out of his window at the white ships that floated on the dark water under the stars. Looking at them, one would never have guessed that this flock of white swans, roosting peacefully in the soft darkness, had almost been the source of a terrible conflict. These were the ships that the Noldor had very nearly slain his people to acquire.

The King shifted his gaze to the empty shipyard. This was where new swans were created. There was no ship under construction there at present, but there very soon would be. It would be lighter, swifter, stronger and more beautiful than any ship yet constructed by the Teleri. A ship fit for a King.

But King Olwë was not having it built for himself. It was for someone who was often in his thoughts...

"Fëanáro, if you ever come back to Alqualondë, there will be a ship waiting for you. The most beautiful ship ever built by my people. And it will be yours to take where you will..."

Olwë had already decided who would work on the construction of this new ship – he had chosen the best shipwrights of his realm, and had requested them to start on it as soon as they had completed the work they had on hand. He had spoken to all of them. All but one.

One still remained. And he was perhaps the most essential person, the most important craftsman of all, who would be called into service on this new endeavour. But strangely enough he was not of the Teleri. He was a stranger. A stranger who had recently moved in to Alqualondë. He lived on the outskirts of the city, close to the sea, and was a man of few words.

He had started to work at the docks, where ships were mended. But so reclusive was he, that he did not work by day with the other Telerin shipwrights. He chose to work alone by night.

Every night, by the light of the stars, Olwë would see him take his boat down to the shore, and row it out to the ships that were under repair, a golden lantern glowing on its prow. King Olwë would watch the path of the lantern as the stranger's boat moved out to the great ships that lay anchored in the deep bay that served as a natural harbour, waiting for skilled craftsmen to repair the damage done to them on long voyages to distant lands.

The stranger would work on them all night, night after night, building and improving on the work that the other shipwrights had done during the day. Often, the stranger would solve for the others problems that they had struggled with as they worked during the day. And very soon the ship that they were working on would be as good as new. And indeed, more beautiful than it had ever been before.

The Telerin shipwrights grew to respect the stranger's skill and began to enjoy working with him, although they never met him, and not a word was exchanged with him.

For this hooded stranger, this shipwright whom no-one knew, possessed a skill that rivalled that of the Teleri – and even outstripped it. Word of his prowess, and his skill, spread amongst the great shipwrights of the Teleri, and reached the ear of the King himself.

And King Olwë had resolved that this craftsman and no other would oversee the construction of his new ship. Although he had never met the elven stranger before, he decided to meet him and request his aid.

And that was why Olwë now stood at the window, waiting for the hooded figure in the dark cloak to take his boat down to the water. Ah – there he was. The King could see him now, dragging his boat across the silver sands to the bay.

Draping his own cloak about him, the King made his way down to the stables where his white horse, Seafoam, was waiting for him.

"Are you ready," he asked softly, stroking the magnificent horse's silken mane. "Then let us be off."

He leapt lightly onto the Seafoam's back and with a thunder of hooves, they were off.

Olwë felt the fresh sea air on his face as his horse galloped like the wind across the white beaches of Alqualondë. As they reached the harbour, the graceful shapes of the ships bloomed like huge white lilies on the polished, mirror-like surface of the water.

"Ah - there he is," whispered Olwë to Seafoam, "Wait here and I will be back soon."

The King alighted from his horse and walked out over the pier, his soft footsteps echoing through the still night air. The hooded stranger's boat was halfway out to the nearest ship, its golden lantern reflected in the still waters of the bay. The King stood on the pier and watched the stranger, silently willing him to stop. The tall elf in the boat stopped rowing and turned to look at the King. Sensing what was expected of him, he turned the boat around and rowed it to the pier.

Tying his boat to a wooden post with a rope, the stranger leapt onto the pier. In the starlit darkness, Olwë could hardly see the stranger's face, shadowed within the hood of his cloak. Yet strangely, he felt he knew him.

"Welcome, Stranger, to Alqualondë," said King Olwë.

The stranger, who was taller than the King, bowed low.

"For these kind words, I thank you. How may I serve the King of the Teleri?"

The King was silent for a moment. Yes, he had in fact come to the stranger with a request, but he did not yet wish to speak of it.

"O hooded stranger, you have slipped like a shadow into our midst, when no-one noticed. And in your own quiet way, you have begun to command our respect. The greatest shipwrights of Alqualondë have spoken to me in praise of your work, and I myself have admired it.

May I ask who you are, and whence you have come?"

"That you may not ask, my lord," said the stranger, regretfully. "But I have come to your realm with no hostile intent."

"I do not doubt that at all," said the King warmly, taking the stranger's hands in his own. "And I have, in fact, come to request your help..."

The stranger bowed again. "And how may I serve the King of the Teleri?"

"I would like to ask you to guide and oversee the construction of a new ship, which will be the greatest ship ever constructed by the Teleri..."

"Do you trust me with such a great endeavour, my lord," asked the stranger.

"I have seen your work, and I have heard my greatest shipwrights speak of your skill with awe and wonder," said Olwë. "I would have no-one but you lead this important endeavour."

"Is it permitted to ask, my lord, the purpose for which this ship is to be constructed?"

Olwë nodded. "Yes, you should know it. The ship is to be a gift for someone who is oft in my thoughts. It is for Fëanáro Curufinwë, the great Noldo..."

The stranger turned away from the King, and looked out over the bay. He was silent for a long while, and then he spoke.

"Is it permitted for me to decline?"

"Why," asked the King. "Have you something against the person for whom the ship is to be built?"

"It would not be right for me to speak ill of one whom the King so clearly loves."

"Yet speak," said the King.

The stranger shook his head.

He stood thoughtfully before the King for a while, and then bowed low for the last time. He got into his boat and rowed away.

And King Olwë heard the next day that the stranger had left the realm of the Teleri.

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_Author's note: It's just occurred to me that there were no nights & days before the coming of the sun - but I can't be bothered to rewrite this. So let's just assume that Fingolfin is having a rather confused dream! _


	6. Chapter 6

**Olórë Nolofinwëo**

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**Chapter 6**

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The King of the Noldor looked at the gemstones arrayed before him in well-concealed disgust.

"I am sorry to say this," he said politely, "but never have I seen such ...er...negligent workmanship. These cannot be creations of the Noldor..."

"Indeed, my Lord, they are not," answered the craftsman apologetically. "They were made by the hooded tramp who lives on the outskirts of Tirion. I accepted them from him as barter for food, because he looked so haggard that I thought I should aid him."

The craftsman turned and glared at his son. "Do you not know what you should show the King, and what you should not? Is not our King the brother of the great Fëanáro Curufinwë, the creator of the Silmarils?"

"Nay, do not blame the boy," said the King, at once. "You did well to come to the aid of one who was in need, whether or not he was skilled at his craft..."

"But he _is _skilled," said the craftsman's son, suddenly. "I watched him at work once, when he did not know I was looking, and I saw him cut a shapeless mass of rock into a beautiful..."

"Hush, boy!" said the craftsman. "Forgive him his impudence, my Lord. He does not know a good gemstone from a poorly cut one..."

"Indeed I do!" said the boy. "Am I not of the Noldor?"

The King smiled at the boy. "Show me one of the tramp's better creations, and I will judge for myself, whether you are a true Noldo who knows his gems."

The boy raced away, and reappeared with a dazzling gem. The King looked at it in wonder.

"Did the tramp cut this jewel?" he asked. "It is beautiful!"

"Nay, my Lord," said the boy, "I cut it myself, under the Hooded One's instruction."

Fingolfin looked thoughtfully from the boy to the jewel. He recognised the pattern of the gemstone's cut. It was a simplified version of a pattern with which he was familiar. Who was this hooded stranger who had taught the boy so well? Could he possibly be the son of Finwë and Míriel Serindë?

"You are lucky to have such a good teacher," he said to the boy. "There was much that I wished to learn from my elder brother, that I could not..."

"I will request my teacher to teach you too, my Lord," began the boy, helpfully.

"Peace!" exploded his father. "You will leave the King's presence at once, and not return until you learn to speak to the Lord of the Noldor with respect!"

The boy bowed apologetically to the King, and took himself away immediately. Fingolfin smiled reassuringly at him, but the boy, whose eyes were downcast, did not see his smile.

Fingolfin then turned to the craftsman. "I wish to meet this tramp, of whom you speak," he said.

"I will tell him that the King wishes to meet him, my Lord," said the craftsman at once. "And I apologise for my son's impudence..."

"Nay, do not apologise," said the King. "He is young."

...and he may have helped me find my lost brother, thought Fingolfin to himself, but he did not say so.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Olórë Nolofinwëo**

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**Chapter 7**

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The King of the Noldor sat thinking of his lost brother, and his thoughts somehow formed themselves into words...

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_I love you whether or not you love me  
I love you even if you think that I don't  
Sometimes I find you doubt my love for you, but I don't mind  
Why should I mind, why should I mind_

_What is love anyway? Does anybody love anybody, anyway?_

_And maybe love is letting people be just what they want to be -  
- the door always must be left unlocked  
To love when circumstance may lead someone away from you..._

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Fingolfin shook himself. Enough of that. It was time for him to appear before the Noldor in the Throne Room. Fingolfin looked at himself in the mirror as he donned his rigol of gold.

"Would you, Nolofinwë of the Noldor, give up this crown, and resign it to your elder brother if he returned?" he asked of the image in the mirror.

The image in the mirror sighed, and did not answer.

"And what would you say to the tramp, if he came to see you?" asked Fingolfin.

Said the image in the mirror, "I do not know."

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The Hooded Stranger stood before the King of the Noldor.

Fëanor knew by now that the enchanted cloak given to him by Ulmo, Lord of the Waters, did indeed mask his identity. But as he met Fingolfin's searching gaze, he drew it more closely around himself.

"You asked to see me, my Lord," he said, bowing low.

As Fingolfin looked at the stranger before him, he began to doubt that the tramp who stood before him was indeed his brother. For as he looked into the stranger's eyes, there awakened in his mind no spark of recognition at all.

"Welcome, Stranger, to the Realm of the Noldor."

Perhaps his brother had used an enchantment to conceal his identity, thought Fingolfin. But how could he know for sure?

"The Lord of the Noldor is kind to one who has long been in exile," said the stranger.

_Exile? _Was this a reference to the years Fëanor had spent at Formenos? Or was the tramp simply referring to the years he had spent on the road?

"You are welcome to reside here, in the Realm of the Noldor," said Fingolfin aloud. "I have heard report of your great skill and craftsmanship... will you not tell us your name?"

"Forgive me, my lord, but I cannot. But as a mark of my respect for you, may I create for you a jewel to rival the work of the greatest Noldor craftsmen?" asked the stranger.

_I am your brother! Why do you hide from me? _But perhaps the man was not his brother after all. How might I trick him into revealing himself, wondered Fingolfin.

"The King of the Noldor requires no gifts from you," he said aloud.

The stranger bowed. "How then, may I show you my gratitude my lord, for allowing a ragged tramp to reside in this great realm? May I create a jewel in honour of someone who is close to you? The great Fëanáro Curufinwë, perhaps?"

Ingwë and Olwë had both asked him to create something beautiful in honour of Fëanor, thought the stranger. But Fingolfin had not. Ingwë and Olwë had both said that Fëanor was oft in their thoughts. But his half-brother had not.

Fingolfin looked thoughtfully at the stranger. If you are indeed my brother, he thought, I know how to make you reveal yourself to me. All I need to do is to spark the flame of your infamous temper...

"If you created a jewel in honour of the 'great' Fëanor, as you refer to him, he would deride it; he would throw it in the dust. For he believes that there is none so great as he..." said the King of the Noldor.

The hooded stranger's eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

"...And for his arrogance, the 'great' Fëanor, as you call him, has incurred a just retribution," continued Fingolfin. "He has lost his people's respect."

Fingolfin had spoken harshly with the express intent of provoking his brother to reveal himself. But the Hooded Stranger did not lose his temper.

"I apologise to the King of the Noldor for speaking in admiration of one whom he does not hold in high regard," said the stranger quietly. "And if there is any service I may render you, which will seem more pleasing to you than the one I suggested..." His voice trailed off. The stranger bowed low to the King and walked away.

And when he reached the door of his dwelling, none other than the King of the Noldor was waiting for him there.

A gust of wind blew the hood of the stranger's cloak back from his face, and he hurriedly pulled it over his head again. But in that split second, the King of the Noldor had learnt all that he needed to know.

"To what do I owe the honour of a visit from the King?" asked the stranger. There was the smallest hint of irony in his voice.

"A brother's eyes cannot be deceived by an enchanted cloak," said King of the Noldor. "I know the identity of the Hooded Stranger."

"And so you have come to send me into exile, even as the Valar did?"

"No," answered Fingolfin, "I have merely come to speak with you."

The stranger's eyes flamed. "But I am too arrogant, am I not, and too full of my own greatness, to appreciate such a gesture of affection and concern..."

"Brother," said Fingolfin, "I said something I did not mean, with the idea of provoking you to reveal yourself to me..."

"I have learnt from recent events not to be provoked into rash displays of emotion," said Fëanor.

"And I have learnt, brother, not to be harsh in judgement of those who act rashly out of pain and anger – as I am one of them myself." There was sorrow in Fingolfin's eyes.

"The 'arrogant' Fëanáro found it hard to come to terms with humiliation, and therefore took himself into exile," said Fëanor.

"And will he not come out of exile at the request of those who love him?" asked Fingolfin.

"Are there any such people left in the world," asked the Hooded Stranger, bitterly.

Though this was a rhetorical question, Fingolfin answered it. "I have heard the Kings of the Vanyar and the Teleri speak of you with love..."

"...and the King of the Noldor?" asked the stranger.

The King of the Noldor looked into the stranger's eyes. He was about to tell him that the great love of the Kings of the Vanyar and the Teleri was nothing compared to the love of one who was the stranger's brother in thought, if not in blood...

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... when Fingolfin was harshly jerked back into wakefulness by his son Turgon.

"Father," said Turgon, "Fingon has a premonition that something terrible is about to happen... or has, perhaps, already happened..."

Fingolfin looked up at his eldest son. "What is it that troubles you, Fingon?"

"I have a feeling," answered Fingon, "a strong feeling that I cannot shake off, that my brother Maedhros is in deep distress. Father, I know that Maedhros is in pain."

Fingolfin stood up and strode to the ocean.

"My Lord Ulmo," he said.

There was no answer, but Fingolfin sensed that the Lord of the Waters was listening. The sound of the waves seemed to quieten a little.

"My Lord Ulmo, can you tell us what has befallen our kinsmen at sea? Have they been caught in a storm, or are they under attack? Are they well, my Lord? Or are they in distress?"

Fingolfin's voice shook with concern. He gave a gasp of awe as Ulmo, Lord of the Waters rose out of the sea.

The King of the Noldor knelt before him, his head bent low.

x

"**Rise, O Nolofinwë the Wise, your kin are well."**

"But why, then, do you look so grave, my Lord?" asked Fingolfin, rising to his feet.

"**Enter the waters of Ulmo, and you will hear all that I hear, **

**and know all that I know." **

x

x

Fingolfin plunged into the sea. And there, he heard the voice of Maedhros, the eldest of Feanor's sons, speak to his father...

"Now what ships and rowers will you spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?"

Then Fëanor laughed as one fey, and he cried: "None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved. Let those that cursed my name, curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar. Let the ships burn!"

Fingolfin could sense Maedhros' distress as he swam back to the shore, his own mind numb and bereft of feeling. The noise of the burning of the ships at Losgar was borne through the winds of the sea as a tumult of great wrath that clamoured in his ears. Unable to bear the sound any longer, Fingolfin emerged from the sea, and waded through the icy waves to the shore.

"I see a fire, father," said Fingon. "And I feel my brother's pain..."

Fingolfin turned and looked out over the ocean. In the distance, he saw the red fires of the burning ships.

"No," he whispered, almost inaudibly. His face twisted in anguish, and his voice rose to a hoarse scream.

"_No!"_

x

x x x

x

The End.

x

x

x

x

_Author's Note: _For the correct pitch and timbre of Fingolfin's "No," please refer to the scene in "The Empire Strikes Back," in which Darth Vader says, "Luke, I am your father." My sincere apologies to George Lucas, and to his fans, too.

Fingolfin's quote is from the song "What is Love," by Howard Jones.


End file.
